Mathoms
by Ysilme
Summary: Ficlets and Drabbles for many occasions. Characters so far: Aragorn, Brego (not the horse), Elladan, Elrohir, Elrond, Éowyn, Faramir, Galadriel, Gimli, Gríma, Haldir, Merry Pippin. Eight: Learning your letters can be so boring. But everything goes easier with a little reward! Gríma, the king's scribe, finds a way to encourage young Éowyn doing an unliked task.
1. Mathoms

**Disclaimer**: Middle-earth belongs to Tolkien. I'm not making any money with this, just playing around for fun.

**Characters**: Gimli, Elrond, Bilbo Baggins

**Notes**: For curiouswombat, who inspired this plotbunny and introduced Gimli's involvement. Written for the Snowflake Challenge 2014, Day 7. Many thanks to shadowycat for the super fast beta. All remaining mistakes are my own.

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><p><strong>Mathoms<strong>

by Winterwitch

Muttering into his beard, Gimli trudged off towards Rivendell's smithy. A conversation overheard at breakfast had given him an idea, but he had to tinker about a bit first before he wanted to talk about it. As usual he was more a dwarf of action than of words, preferring to let his handiwork speak for him.

At the smithy, friendly smiles greeted him and a silent nod directed him to a free workbench. He had been there before, making friends among those who shared his love for metalwork and smith-craft, and knew his way around already quite well. Collecting the material he wanted to work with, he also found several sets of pliers and set to work. Not long before he had fashioned himself some long strips of copper as thin as he could manage, about half an inch in width and easily pliable. Now he was set to try out the idea he'd thought of while listening to the Hobbits talking to one of the kitchen elves.

Picking up one of the copper bands and some flat pliers, his dexterous hands began to form a shape with the band, now making sharp angles, now carefully bending it in rounded shapes. Finished, he couldn't help but exclaim a loud, satisfied, "Ha!", which drew the attention of the other smiths to him. They came over, curious about what the Master Dwarf was doing, and listened with admiration when he explained what he was creating. Master Galeas, the Master Smith, offered to do the soldering of the finished piece for the dwarf, which Gimli gladly accepted, while the others made suggestions and asked questions.

Soon, a whole collection of different shapes were finished, soldered, filed and polished, and ready to be put to the test. Thanking his workmates profusely, he went off with his work, to find the kitchens.

He was intercepted by the old Hobbit, Mr. Bilbo, who couldn't help but notice what the dwarf had in his hands, and, not getting an answer when he asked what it was, followed Gimli to the kitchens, calling his nephew and his friends when they passed them to come and see. One of the men joined them as well, and in the end the whole procession invaded the kitchen, much to the head cook's dismay. But when he saw what the short guest was bringing, all was forgiven.

"Look here, everybody, what this ingenious dwarf has concocted!" he exclaimed. But not everybody was so quick on the uptake, and puzzled faces met his delighted gaze.

"Don't you see? These are made for cutting out biscuits, in all kinds of shapes! Here, look, a flower, and this is a star, and a tree, a horse, a cat, and a dragon even! And these are -"

"A wizard, a man, an elf, a hobbit and a dwarf!," Lord Elrond completed who had been passing by when the small caravan went off to the kitchen and couldn't resist following. "Bravo, Master Dwarf, this is a wonderful addition to our kitchen equipment. And I think a group of all these will make a wonderful fellowship, not only as biscuits on my tea-table."

-oOo-

Note: biscuits (UK) = cookies (US)


	2. The same old tale?

**Disclaimer**: Middle-earth belongs to Tolkien. I'm not making any money with this, just playing around for fun.

**Characters**: Aragorn, Gilraen

**Note**: Written in response to cairistiona7's Snowflake challenge wish, asking for Aragorn h/c with unusual caregivers, for her birthday. Happy Birthday!  
>Many thanks to shadowycat for the super-fast beta! Any remaining mistakes are my own.<p>

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><p><strong>The same old tale?<strong>

by Winterwitch

"Ai, mother, leave it be! I'd rather wait for Elrond."

Gilraen looked up from the process of cutting her stubborn son's boot from his quickly swelling foot, raising her left eyebrow in a perfect imitation of the Lord of Imladris' most typical quirk.

"Do you really want to bother your foster father with something as trivial as a sprained ankle when he sits in council with half of Middle-earth? I'm fully capable of seeing to it. Besides, you know well enough it will only get worse if you wait."

"Hmpf." Aragorn crossed his arms in tacit but reluctant acquiescence, finally letting his mother continue. He tried not to flinch when she turned the injured limb a bit to proceed. When the boot was off, she applied a strong-smelling liniment to the swollen joint and started to bandage it with firm hands.

"Valar, son, you are a disgrace! When did the use of water and soap become a strange concept for you?"

Aragorn blushed to the roots of his equally unkempt hair. "Mother, you know how it is, I -"

Gilraen cut him short, rolling her eyes. "Stop it, I know the tale. You are a ranger, living in the wild without access to the comforts of elven or even human dwellings, and the dirt also serves as disguise when you have to hide…. I know the tale."

Aragorn, who was just about to start a lengthy explanation, was cut short. "What?"

Gilraen cleaned her hands and stood up. "Well, at least that was what your father always told me."

"Oh." Aragorn digested the unexpected glimpse into his father's life. Then he cleared his throat. "It wasn't what I was going to say, though."

"What is it, then?" Gingerly, she picked up the grubby cloak her son had dropped when he had limped into the room and carried it to a basket.

Aragorn cleared his throat again. "Well, you see, out there with the Rangers, they always make fun of me with my elven upbringing, when I wash my hair or my clothes. It's simply easier if I get grubby and dirty, and smell as sweaty as them."

Gilraen stopped short. "I see." She had never expected anything like that! With a sigh, she crossed her arms and took in her son's appearance. "But be that as it may, you're a grown boy now, and it's simply not acceptable to remain in this state while you are in Imladris. Off with you to the bathing house - no, I'm not even letting you close to the indoor baths with this filth on you!"

Mumbling under his breath, Aragorn carefully got up and, after successfully testing to see if his injured foot would bear his weight, limped out.

"Take fresh clothes with you!" his mother called after him.

"Yes, nana!"

Grinning, Gilraen cleared away the utensils she had used. Her son might be nearing his sixtieth begetting day and an experienced leader of his rangers, but sometimes, he behaved just like he had as a boy.

-oOo-


	3. New Friends

**Disclaimer**: Middle-earth belongs to Tolkien. I'm not making any money with this, just playing around for fun.

**Characters**: Haldir, Brego, Felaróf

**Note**: A stray plotbunny, quickly caught and turned into a little gift ficlet for kenaz. Happy Birthday!  
>Many thanks to cairistiona7 for the beta. All remaining mistakes are my own.<p>

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><p><strong>New Friends<br>**

by Winterwitch

Dusk was approaching, and the heavy rain hadn't lessened all day. Haldir huddled under the eaves of the cabin, trying to ignore the steady dribble from a leak in the roof onto his left shoulder and the stares of the Men who were standing guard, and wished he were somewhere else. Somewhere warm, dry and comfortable with a nice dinner and a decent goblet of wine.

It didn't look like he would get any of that in the foreseeable future, though. By the void, why did he have to volunteer for this miserable task? It had sounded much more exciting when Lord Celeborn had asked him to serve as his bodyguard for a meeting with the new king of Men in the south. He hadn't travelled beyond the Limlight for centuries and was eager to see the vast plains of Calenardhon again, and the famous horses of the men.

Reality looked much different. It had started to rain at the very moment they left the forest, and the rain hadn't left off during the whole long ride to this miserable settlement at the northernmost border of this new country, where Lord Celeborn meant to meet Eorl of the Éothéod. Which he did, as soon as they arrived, while Haldir hadn't even been asked inside, just been pointed towards his current place. Instead of refreshments or any offer of comfort, all he had received all day had been more or less curious stares, some of them bordering on the indecent. Hadn't they ever seen an elf before? Probably not, he thought, and neither a male with a beardless face or well-developed legs, if he went by where their stares came to rest.

With a sigh, he straightened, shrugging deeper under his hood. No matter his lord's plans for good neighbourly relations, Haldir didn't intend to change anyone's perception of elven hardiness and endurance, or aloofness, for that matter, and would never let on how tired, cold or hungry he was.

A soft snort caught his attention. Someone had opened a stable door, and warm light came out from a building much larger and better built than the cabin which obviously was the main lodging of the settlement. Ignoring the looks and questions from the guards - he didn't understand them anyway, which they knew very well after a day of futile attempts at conversation without a common language - he followed the inviting light.

Inside, quiet activity indicated feeding time, and he noted with pleasure that their own steeds were already fed and well-looked after. Nobody paid him any heed, and he made his way down the aisle, taking in the equine beauties in every stall. He had wanted to see their horses, and horses he did see!

One attracted him particularly, a white stallion, a bit smaller than the others.

"Hello there, proud one," he said, offering his hand to the stallion's nose. "You are quite a beauty and you know it, don't you? Such strong legs, such sleek muscles. I've no doubt you'll run like the wind."

Whispering endearments and nonsense in the firm belief that nobody would understand him anyway, he leaned closer to the white horse, caressing the soft nostrils and then letting his hand wander tenderly up the nose and to the mane. He found that particularly itchy spot and scratched it dutifully, earning him a contented snort and puffs in his left ear.

"You have a good eye for horses," a voice said in broken Sindarin. It took all of Haldir's self-restraint to not spin around and spook his new friend. Instead, he turned slowly, meeting the eyes of a young man with hair as blond as his own. Haldir inclined his head.

"Your horses are famous, and I was curious to see them for myself," he said.

The other nodded. "And you chose the noblest among them to befriend." A smile warmed the bearded face. "Felaróf allows the touch of very few people, and only my father may ride him."

"Felaróf… then this is the famous progenitor of your - your - how do you call them?"

"Mearas, and yes, he is. But come now, Haldir, our lords have finished their council. It is time to eat and drink!"

The man clapped his arm on Haldir's shoulder, steering him back towards the cabin.  
>Haldir heard loud voices as well as laughter, and when they stopped inside, an enticing aroma made his mouth water.<p>

These men weren't so bad after all, he thought a bit later, sitting with warm feet and filled stomach between his lord and the king's son. He raised his tankard to be filled again. 

-(o)- 

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><p><em>Note<em>: In the Third Age, the Éothéod, the horse-people from the valley of the Anduin, were given the province of Calenardhon by Cirion, Steward of Gondor as a reward for their support in battle. They renamed themselves the Eorlingas, the followers of Eorl, and their land became later known as Rohan. Felaróf, the ancestor of the mearas, was a wild horse caught by Eorl's father whose death he caused, and, caught again by a young Eorl, agreed to serve him as payment, as the horse understood the speech of men. He only allowed Eorl to ride him and was said to be beautiful, proud and strong. Brego is Eorl's son.


	4. Coincidence? (Crossover)

For Shadowycat. Happy belated Birthday!

**Characters:** Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Faramir  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Crossover  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: This is a work of transformative fiction based on JRR Tolkien's and JKR Rowling's creatings, done purely for enjoyment. No infringement is intended and no money is being made.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Many thanks to cairistiona7 for the beta. All remaining mistakes are my own.

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><p><strong>Coincidence?<strong>

by Winterwitch

"That was surprisingly fun, Minerva. I can't deny that you have been, once again, correct in your assumption: I did indeed like this."

Minerva valiantly hid her smirk behind her wineglass. She had tried for several years now to convince Severus to watch the movie trilogy with her, but it had taken a lost bet for him to finally give in. His stubborn pride, as always - he would never have admitted actually having read the book, though the absence of dust on the volume she had surreptitiously placed on his night-stand was all the evidence necessary, considering the usual state of his furniture. And now they had seen _The Lord of the Rings_ together, a pleasure she had longed to share with him as much as her love for the book.

"You could have told me earlier, though, that I would be seeing a familiar face among the actors," Severus remarked, not looking up from his crossword.

"What familiar face?" She looked at him with surprise.

"Lupin. He played that Ranger fellow in the green cloak, wait, in the scene where they also had the elephants in disguise…" **.**

Minerva was gob-smacked. Could Severus be right? He knew Remus so much better than herself, and now that she came to think of it, Remus had been abroad for an extended time at the time the movie had been filmed…

"You can't be serious," she finally stated.

Severus smirked at her. "Do you want to bet on it?"

-(o)-

In another time at another place, a figure huddled in a green cloak shifted in its sleep. He awoke with a gasp, heart beating fast, staring ahead into the darkness.

The fire had burned down, the last glow from the embers giving off just enough faint light to reveal the sleeping shapes around him and glint on the dagger of the watching guard. Reassured, Faramir lay back, waiting for his heartbeat to quieten and his breath to calm.

It had just been a dream, though the sense of realism it carried made it hard to adjust to the reality of the camp. He had been somewhere else, in a time and place completely unfamiliar to him, with people dressed in the strangest way, and there had been danger. Another Dark Lord, another war, and a dark-clad figure he felt fiercely protective about. He had somehow known that person was in danger, had followed him down many steps to a small building, and then there had been a huge snake…

Faramir shuddered. By the Void, what had been in that flask his lieutenant had shared over their meagre dinner? He couldn't remember ever having such a strange, vivid dream before. Was this a simple dream, or some kind of premonition?

A cold shiver ran over his back as he remembered the large beast jabbing out and biting and the devastating pain when he watched the life drain from the strangely familiar man's eyes. Was this really only a dream?

_- End - _


	5. Disruption

**Disclaimer**: Middle-earth belongs to Tolkien. I'm not making any money with this, just playing around for fun.

**Characters**: Elrond, Galadriel

**Notes**: For keiliss. This was supposed to be a birthday ficlet half a year ago, but my muse had different ideas about that. Many thanks to lordhellebore for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

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><p><strong>Disruption<strong>

_by Winterwitch_

The door to Elrond's study suddenly opens, which is uncommon; usually, everybody knocks, even if not all wait for an invitation to come in. Only one person would disregard their customs in this way, so Elrond is not left in doubt as to who is about to enter and puts his quill down with a sigh. Around him, the peaceful quiet of the room changes into subtle movement. Shadows vanish, a tail is drawn behind a curtain, a head lowered. Eyes close, ears turn, whiskers twitch.

When his visitor enters, Elrond looks up. "Can I help you?" he asks with restrained civility. He holds his mother-in-law in high esteem and usually cooperates well with her. But living with her under the same roof can be taxing, particularly when she assumes the right to do as she pleases. Not surprisingly, she is also the only person in his household who does not care if she comes at an inconvenient time. All of Imladris knows their Lord is not to be disturbed when he is doing the books, but not so the Lady Galadriel.

"'Afternoon, Elrond. I am looking for my elusive husband; I have not seen him all day."

Elrond's eyebrows make a valiant attempt to reach his hairline. She is disrupting him for ithis/i?

He remains silent, but she is unfazed. Eventually, he says: "I believe he has gone hunting with the twins."

"Oh." A moue of disapproval contorts her features. "Ah, well. I will not interrupt you further, then."

"You are welcome," Elrond says to the door which has fallen closed behind her. With a smirk, he picks up his quill again. He does not begrudge the Lord of the Golden Forest this little reprieve at all. At least Celeborn is able to let go and enjoy life when he is away from home, contrary to his wife. He loves his grand-children and spends as much time with them as possible, a fact Elrond cherishes even more as he does not remember his own father, nor his mentors doing anything ever just for the fun of it.

He makes a chirping noise. "Peace and quiet once more, my darlings," he says. "You may relax once again."

A curled-up body stretches out again on the settee, a striped tail slowly slips back out from under the curtain on the windowsill. On the sideboard, the tips of pointed ears rise above the rim of a wide bowl, and a ginger paw lazily creeps out between some books high in a bookcase. Soft steps approach.

A movement at his side makes Elrond lift up his free hand and then lower it again on the small body curling up on his lap, gently stroking the soft fur. Peace restored.

With a smile, he turns back to his ledgers.

-oOo-


	6. Trial and Error

**Characters**: Peregrine Took, Meriadoc Brandybuck

**Disclaimer**: This is a work of transformative fiction based on JRR Tolkien's creation, done purely for enjoyment. No infringement is intended and no money is being made.

**Notes**: for Miss Morland, who requested "Hobbits of your choice having misadventures in the kitchen."  
>Many thanks to curiouswombat for the beta! All remaining mistakes are my own.<p>

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><p><strong>Trial and Error<strong>

_by The Winterwitch_

"It says the peel can stay on."

Merry peered at the recipe, written in Bilbo's elegant script. Cousin Bilbo had collected recipes all his life, and the cookbook he had written in Rivendell was a particular gem, containing recipes from all over Middle-earth. This one was from Ithilien.

"Yes, but it also says you need to use that special kind of pumpkin, Hookay, if I understand it right. I have never heard of it before, and it is certainly not a kind that grows hereabouts."

"Pumpkin is pumpkin," Pippin decided, "you can use whatever you want. Come on, let us get going, I am hungry!"

With visible reluctance, Merry gave in to his cousin's pestering, and they set about to prepare the pumpkin. It was a large one, easily the size of Pippin's head, and they needed their combined strength to cut it in half and then in sections. Carving the seeds out was the easy part, but then things started to get difficult.

"Ouch! Darn, Merry, have you an idea how to cut that thing easily? It is so hard!"

Merry looked up from the next step, which was cutting the sections into finger-sized slices.

"No, just keep on working, you whiner. Preparing pumpkin always is hard work, you knew that."

Pippin sucked his thumb. "Yes, but -"

"Shut up!"

They gave up after they had done a section each. Perhaps pumpkins grew larger in the Shire than where the recipe originated, or it was one of these tasks where Men, once again, were at an advantage. This simply had to be enough.

"It is sufficient to try the recipe," Merry decided. "What next?"

"Mix three tablespoons of good olive oil with a tablespoon each of salt, paprika and curry powder," Pippin read.

Both Hobbits looked at each other with worry.

"We do not have olive oil," Pippin said.

"Nor any curry, whatever that might be," Merry finished. Looking at their slices of pumpkin, they said in unison: "Darn!"

"I am sure we can use other oil, as long as it is oil," Pippin decided, and Merry added with a nod "and we have paprika powder."

"Hmhm." Pippin was leafing through the other recipes for inspiration.

"There is another recipe with this curry, and it also lists cinnamon. We have cinnamon!"

Merry looked sceptical. "I do not think we can use that instead."

Pippin laughed. "Why not? Come on, a little experimentation cannot be wrong. I know what we do! We use twice the amount of paprika powder and also cinnamon. That should do the trick."

Merry was not convinced, but he also knew from experience that it was difficult to dissuade Pippin of something once he had gotten it in his head. And who knew, perhaps it worked! They did not know what this curry tasted like anyway.

They opened the recipe again and dutifully mixed the spices "let us double the amount, this looks so little!" and then added the pumpkin slices.

"Mix until well coated," Pippin read, and Merry did so. "Spread on a baking sheet." Merry complied. "Put into a hot oven for about half an hour." They did that.

But when they checked at the due time with a fork, the slices were still quite hard. Merry looked at Pippin. "I do not think it is supposed to be like this. The recipe says pumpkin chips are softer than tater chips. But these are not even as soft as them!"

Pippin frowned. "Let us wait a little and check again."

"All right."

They waited for the quarter of an hour. The chips began to soften, but the peel was still hard, so they put the sheet back for another quarter.

"Now it surely must be enough!"

Pippin agreed, and Merry placed the hot baking sheet expectantly on the table. Pippin fetched forks, and they both picked up one of the chips expectantly. Or rather, tried to, for the chips were rather mushy.

They looked at each other. "You were right," Pippin said, "we should have peeled it."

Merry rolled his eyes and went for spoons. At least it should taste well, no matter the structural integrity. Again, both took their utensils simultaneously, scooped up one of the mushy chips and put it into their mouths.

Pippin snapped for air and went red, Merry ran to the sink and spat it out.

"Smaug's Breath! How much paprika DID you use, Pippin?" But his cousin was unable to speak, trying valiantly to swallow his chip, so Merry consulted the recipe again.

"Tablespoons! You read tablespoons, Pippin, and even doubled the amount. But Bilbo says teaspoons."

Pippin had swallowed his mouthful, took a hasty swallow of water and came over to look. "Look, he wrote 'Ts', that means tablespoon!"

Merry rolled his eyes. "Yes, with a capital T. When the t is small, it means teaspoons."

"Oh."

"Oh indeed." Merry could not help the grin spreading over his face. Pippin surely would never learn, but where would be the fun without all of his mishaps?

"Anyway, it does not matter. We might try it again with the proper amount of paprika powder, but NOT with cinnamon. This is the worst combination of spices I have ever eaten."

_~ finis ~_

**The recipe: Hokkaido chips (vegan)**

1 Hokkaido pumpkin

1 tablespoon each of salt, curry and paprika powder

freshly ground black pepper

2-3 tablespoons olive oil

Preheat your oven to 180°C/360°F.

Mix the spices and the olive oil in a large bowl. Wash and dry the pumpkin and clean out the seeds carefully. Cut it into chip-sized pieces (the peel stays on). Mix them with the spicy oil mixture until they are well coated. (The amount of oil is sufficient even for a large Hokkaido, don't use more oil or it gets too fatty.) Spread the chips onto a baking sheet and bake for about 20 minutes.


	7. History Repeating

**Characters**: Aragorn, Elladan, Elrohir

**Disclaimer**: This is a work of transformative fiction based on JRR Tolkien's creation, done purely for enjoyment. No infringement is intended and no money is being made.

**Notes**: For Linda Hoyland, who asked for Aragorn and a cat.  
>The title refers to drabble 13, "Offspring", of the drabble series "Approaching Rivendell".<br>Many thanks to shadowycat for the beta. All remaining mistakes are my own.

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><p>Aragorn was beyond bored. It was only the third day, but he already felt like crawling up the walls. There was only so much time one could spend with reading, or practising one's letters, but his foster father had been adamant that he was to stay in bed for at least a week until his broken leg had set sufficiently. This should also teach him a lesson for being so reckless, ada Elrond had said. Reckless! It had not been his fault that the branch of the tree he had climbed had been dead, and his friends had not fallen either. It was also not his fault that he was not an elf and therefore not able to catch himself on another branch to break his fall. Or perhaps he would be able one day, when his arms had grown longer… But here he was, with a cumbersome splint on his leg and an unbelievable number of days ahead of him where he could do nothing but lie here without anything to do. He would die of boredom before he was allowed out of bed again, he was sure.<p>

The door opened, and two tall, identical figures stepped into the bedchamber.

"Suilad, brother, how do you fare?" the one with the blue tunic asked.

Aragorn's face lit up. "Lado! Rohi! How good of you to come, I am dying of boredom."

Both elves laughed at the expression of comical desperation on their brother's face.

"Already, after a mere three days? You have become a spoiled brat, little one."

Aragorn grinned at the good-natured teasing of his foster brother.

"It is a good thing, then, that we brought you some distraction," Elrohir, the one in the green tunic, added. "Look!"

He took his hands from behind his back and held two tiny black kittens out to the bed-bound young human.

"And here is another one." Elladan reached carefully into the bag he wore over his shoulder, producing a third kitten, a little grey tiger.

Aragorn beamed with delight, carefully touching the tiny bodies crawling over each other, exploring the new territory. One of the blacks sat down and gave a pitiful mew.

"What does it want? Is it hungry?"

"I do not think so," Elrohir, who sat on the bed, answered. "They have just been fed. Their mother left them and they are now being raised by hand."

Aragorn petted the tiger who was kneading the coverlet at his side, while one of the black ones sniffed his way along his collarbone.

"They are adorable! How do you do that, raise them by hand? Can I help?"

The twins looked at each other and winked.

"Yes, of course. Actually, we counted on you, since they not only need to be fed frequently, but also need somebody close for comfort and warmth. Ada said they can stay with you as long as somebody else helps with the feeding."

Elladan, who was leaning against one of the bed-posts, launched into a lengthy explanation of the details. Aragorn listened attentively while he continued to alternatively caress the small furry beings and prevent them from crawling too far away, all boredom forgotten.

_~ finis ~_


	8. The Reward

**Characters: Gríma/Éowyn**

**Disclaimer**: This is a work of transformative fiction based on JRR Tolkien's creation, done purely for enjoyment. No infringement is intended and no money is being made.

**Notes**: A birthday ficlet for Lord Hellebore who asked for Éowyn and Gríma and "Something happy, at least while it lasts".

Many thanks to curiouswombat for the beta. All remaining mistakes are my own.

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><p>Following the usual, morning knock the door opened and Éowyn entered. Théoden King's young niece had only recently arrived at Edoras, following the death of her parents, and now came to the young scribe every day to be taught her letters.<p>

Gríma laid his quill down and got up from behind his desk, moving over to the table where the girl was spreading out her things.

"Good morning, Éowyn."

She smiled up at him. "Good morning, Master Gríma! Look, I have done all my exercises."

Gríma slid onto the bench at her side, carefully examining the wax tablet she held up to him. She had learnt a new letter yesterday and had practised it with varying skill. Gríma found it hard not to smile at the wobbly letters and her eager diligence to get it right. Éowyn was a delightful child, full of life and cheerfulness, despite the sad fate that had brought her to her uncle's home and the somewhat severe lifestyle of the Royal Court. But she was also exuberant and constantly on the move, preferring to be outside and with the horses. Sitting down quietly for any indoor occupation was hard for her, and results were sometimes only achieved with a lot of coaxing and tears of frustration.

Gríma, who was young to be a scribe at the king's court, had neither experience with children nor as a tutor, but he had learned quickly how to encourage her and that rewards worked much better than criticism. She could concentrate best when listening to a gripping story, and Gríma, who was well-versed in the lore of their people, chose suitable tales from their past to inspire her interest. Learning new letters from the names of the hero or, preferable, heroine of the latest tale was much more entertaining than from boring everyday terms, particularly if it earned her a new song or another story to be told, and she was really doing well by now.

"Very good, Éowyn, you did well. You deserve a reward."

É0wyn's eyes lit up at his smile. "What is it going to be, Master Gríma? A new drawing for me?"

The scribe's smile deepened. "Yes, if you like. Do you have your booklet?"

"Yes!" Éowyn shouted eagerly, jumping up and fetching her scrip. It also held many things unrelated to lessons, and it took a moment until she had found the item in question. A bit red in the face, she brought it back to the table, setting it before her tutor.

The booklet had also been Gríma's idea, earning him the praise of the king's housekeeper who was responsible for the Lady Éowyn's education in more feminine pursuits. Sewing, like writing, was a task the girl found utterly boring, and especially so because it required sitting quietly. When Éowyn had once complained loudly about these lessons, which were useless in her eyes, Gríma had pointed out that she needed to learn to sew so she would be able to repair tack, and that every Rohir could sew well enough to repair clothing when on patrol or travelling. But instead of kerchiefs and shifts to hem he gave her a little piece of leather and some scraps of parchment, and taught her how to sew it together to create a little booklet. Sewing lessons were grudgingly accepted after that.

When Éowyn had earned her next reward, she had asked him if he could draw her a horse instead, and had presented him with her booklet. The result, a small, well-executed drawing of a running stallion, had delighted Éowyn so much that a drawing of an animal had become her favourite prize.

"A stag, please, Master Gríma, a stag!" she now begged, hopping up and down in excitement.

Gríma laughed. "All right, little lady, but you must sit down again. I cannot draw if you are jumping around like a filly."

_~ finis ~_


End file.
